


Okay

by misscai



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Consensual, Crying During Sex, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Men Crying, Mentions of Violence, Possible Spoilers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Sex, Sharing a Bed, Spooning, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 05:44:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15308736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscai/pseuds/misscai
Summary: Rook is a mess after Jacob's final test, and she seeks comfort from another person who knows what it feels like to have your brain conditioned. Staci Pratt needs comfort, too, and doesn't hesitate when Rook shows up at his door in the middle of the night. Together, they just might be okay.





	Okay

Rook didn’t flinch when a log on the fire shifted, releasing a flurry of sparks into the air. One of them drifted down into her cup of apple cider. It didn’t matter; it had gone cold three hours ago. She hadn’t taken more than a sip, and even that was more from reflex than desire. Her mind wouldn’t shut down enough for her to enjoy a quiet evening.

Every time she closed her eyes she saw Eli’s face. She wondered what he’d been thinking when he’d heard the gunshots in the Wolf’s Den. Maybe someone had shouted— _it’s the Deputy, she’s gone rogue!_ Eli might have laughed at that. He’d believed wholeheartedly in Rook’s loyalty; he never would have prepared for the possibility that she’d turn on him. Yet he’d had his bow in his hand when she turned the corner into the control room. He must have grabbed it from the table as the shots got closer and the shouts of his Whitetails were silenced. She’d seen him notch an arrow and line up his sights in a matter of seconds—he would have had a shot at her. But he’d hesitated, just long enough for Rook to pull the trigger and spray his chest with bullets. Maybe the arrow had gone into the ceiling; maybe it had just fallen to the floor. She didn’t know. Jacob’s voice had been too loud.

_Only you can make this world seem right._ She remembered thinking, in the haze of returning to her own mind after being stuffed into a dark corner of it, that Jacob was a lovely singer. His baritone had made her heart flutter, even as nausea twisted her gut when she recognized what she’d done—recognized the slumped, bloody figure on the floor before her. _Only you can make the darkness bright._ He’d been almost gentle with her, and it made her even more sick to her stomach. She remembered falling to her knees, retching, and she remembered Jacob placing a hand on her shoulder. _Only you could have gotten this close. Only you could have earned his trust._ Trust that she’d betrayed, after working so hard to obtain it. Trust that Eli had maintained, right until the very end. He’d waited to see if it was really her. He’d hesitated before firing his killshot. He could have killed her. He should have killed her. _It was always only ever you…_

Her cheeks were numbed by the autumn breeze, so she didn’t feel the tears dripping down to mingle with her cider. She’d betrayed the Whitetails, the people who had put their own lives on the line to help her. And worse than that, she hadn’t given them justice. All Tammy wanted was Jacob Seed dead. Rook hadn’t been able to do it. She had dodged his sniper fire, chased him up the mountainside, funneled her guilt into anger and fired arrow after arrow at him… but when he was slouched against a rock, his breath rattling wetly in his chest, she had put her bow away. She was supposed to kill him; instead, she dropped bliss oil beneath his tongue to dull his pain. She freed her arrows from his skin. She bandaged his wounds. Then she looped his arm around her shoulders, taking as much of his weight as she could manage, and helped him into the backseat of the first car she could find.

Rook hated driving, but she knew she couldn’t call anyone else for help; they’d kill Jacob the minute they saw him. Her hands shook on the wheel, and she had to fight the sobs in her voice as she called for Joseph over the peggie radio channel. She told him, through heaving breaths and tears, that Jacob was injured and that she was bringing him to the compound, and then she begged for Joseph to let her go, to let this be the last conflict between them. He’d cited a verse to her— _blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy_ —and then hung up. It wasn’t a yes or a no, but Rook was mere minutes away from her destination and didn’t have time to worry.

When she pulled up, Joseph had a handful of cultists move Jacob onto a stretcher. Rook wept harder when Joseph placed a hand on her cheek, not saying a word but just blinking slowly before he left her alone. She stared after him for a long time, then got back in the car and drove towards Jacob’s bunker, numb and jittery.

The ensuing fights passed in a blur. Time only slowed when she saw Staci Pratt, bruised and exhausted, slumped in an office chair and duct-taped to its arms. He looked up, eyes hazy, and asked her if she was real. Rook broke down again, kneeling in front of him and clawing at his restraints. She sobbed apologies the whole time, squeezing his hands with the little strength she had left in her emotionally-drained body. He had just knelt down with her, telling her they had to leave. Together they made their escape, slogging through floodwaters and collapsing onto the dirt outside.

_We’re okay?_ Pratt’s voice was soft, uncertain. Rook nodded, another wave of guilt engulfing her. He used to be so confident—in that blustery, secretly-hiding-awkwardness kind of way. Jacob had taken that from him, and Rook had saved Jacob’s life. She might as well have wound the music box herself. Pratt would be disgusted with her when he found out. Her heart was already cracking in her chest.

_We’re okay,_ she told him, forcing a smile. It seemed like that had become her mantra as she clambered into the backseat of Sharky’s car, painfully aware of Pratt’s hand shaking within hers. _We’re okay,_ she said to Jess and Grace, who were waiting with the others at the Breakthrough Camp. _We’re okay,_ she reminded herself when everyone headed off to wherever they called home. Rook had chosen to stay at the camp for the foreseeable future, finding its isolated location and proximity to the river calming—not to mention that there were plenty of clean-up and restoration tasks to be done, giving her something with which to occupy her mind and body. She led Pratt to one of the cleaner cabins, showing him the wardrobe where the extra blankets and pillows were kept. Then she left him alone, heading off to her own cabin.

Not a half-hour of restless tossing and turning later, Rook was back outside, her heart rate pounding in the darkness as she struggled to light a fire. Now, with the fire burning down, her cider undrinkable, and her mind hazy from exhaustion but too guilt-ridden to sleep, Rook didn’t know what else to do. She acted on instinct, dousing the flames with the liquid from her mug and treading softly through the grass. The door to Pratt’s cabin wasn’t locked, but she knocked softly just in case. There was hardly time to blink before he was there, still in his uniform with his shoes on. Rook wondered if he’d slept at all.

“The bath house is right over there,” she told him, “if you want to shower. I can find you some clean clothes.”

“No,” he said quickly, a tinge of panic mixing with shame in his eyes. He wouldn’t look at her. “No. Showers are… bad. Before bad things, I mean.” Rook remembered, wincing. Jacob always forced his playthings into an outdoor stall, dousing them in freezing water before he put them through their trials. It wasn’t a shower for cleanliness, but for humiliation. Just one more straw to break them.

“It’s easier in a tub, with hot water. Nick and Kim have one; I’ll take you when you’re ready.” Pratt didn’t say anything, so Rook nodded and turned to leave. His hand was around her wrist before she could take a step.

“I can’t...” He cleared his throat, embarrassment burning ruddy on his cheeks. “I haven’t slept alone since the plane.”

“Okay.” She followed him inside without hesitation. The sleeping bag serving as a duvet was bunched up on the floor in the corner, no pillow in sight. Pratt motioned to the bed.

“You can have it.” He scooped up the sleeping bag and handed that to her as well.

“Staci...”

“It’s alright.” Rook sat on the edge of the mattress, draping the sleeping bag over her legs. Pratt hovered for a moment longer, then lowered himself down to the floor, leaning against the wall with his elbows on his knees. “Did… Did you pass his test?”

“Yeah.” She gathered the sleeping bag in her clenched fists. “Eli’s dead.” The following question hung heavy in the air, even unspoken. Rook’s throat tightened around guilty tears. “I didn’t kill Jacob.” She waited for the anger, the stinging barbs of betrayal stabbing into her, but it never came. Pratt was just looking at her.

“I didn’t, either. I had my chances. I slept in the same room as him. I shaved him.” He shrugged, and Rook hated the way he hunched in on himself. “I was weak.”

“You were afraid,” she amended gently. Pratt considered this for a long moment.

“You were, too. I remember you screaming for us when the helicopter crashed.” Rook hadn’t known he was conscious for that. She blushed when she thought of all the desperate things she’d shouted—things like _please don’t hurt him_ and _take me instead._ She’d been terrified that she would never see Pratt again. She’d been cursing herself for never telling him how she felt. “But you still came for me.” The opportunity was there. Rook’s heart jolted, but she swallowed down the nerves. They might not have this chance again.

“I’d never leave you.” Not exactly the words, but the sentiment was there, and Pratt knew it—his eyes widened just enough, his lips parting in surprise. She gave him a small smile, then patted the bed in invitation. “The mattress is really thin. It’ll feel just like the floor.” The joke startled a quick chuckle out of Pratt, and after a moment’s hesitation, he stood to toe off his shoes. For another second, he was frozen with indecision, looking to Rook for guidance as his fingers twitched towards the buttons on his uniform shirt. She kept her movements slow, standing up and resting her palms on his pectorals. “Do you want to undress for bed? It’s your decision. Nobody will make you do anything.”

“I—yeah. Yeah, I do.” Rook nodded, deftly unbuttoning his uniform shirt and sliding the material off of his shoulders. The newly-revealed cuts and bruises made her wince. She couldn’t imagine how Pratt still saw himself as weak after everything he’d been through. He was one of the strongest people she knew. She waited until he gave her the okay, then she released his belt buckle and slipped his jeans off his hips. He peeled his socks off on his own.

“Do you want to be beside the wall?” The bed was in the corner of the room, but if he’d asked, Rook would move it to the very middle. She wanted him to be as comfortable as possible.

“No. I need… air.”

“Okay.” Rook slid in first, lying on her back as Pratt joined her. His movements were jerky, as if expecting her to turn on him. For a while they were quiet, staring up at the ceiling and breathing together. Eventually he rolled onto his side, his back facing Rook, and she mourned the display of distance. But his hand reached behind him, seeking her own beneath the cover of the sleeping bag. She laced her fingers with his.

“Thank you,” he murmured into the darkness. Rook moved closer, slotting her body against his and curling their joined hands against his stomach. She placed a light kiss against his shoulder, her head sharing his pillow.

“We’re okay,” she told him. It didn’t feel like a lie, this time.

.

She’d gone to sleep with her front warm, but she woke up with the human equivalent of a space heater pressed to her back. Pratt’s arm was wrapped around her torso, snug beneath her breasts. Drowsy and comfortable, Rook stroked down his arm from elbow to wrist, tickling through the fine dark hairs there. Pratt shifted, snuffling a little where his nose was buried in her hair, and _oh._ The hardening bulge pressed against her backside was unmistakable. Rook swallowed, carefully rubbing herself against him. A sigh left Pratt’s lips, his fingers flexing against Rook’s stomach.

She could tell the moment he woke up. He squeezed her close, taking a deep breath before he seemed to realize what he was doing—then he loosened his grip and put several inches of space between them.

“Don’t.” The word was out before she could stop it. Pratt’s hand froze on her hip. “I… You… It’s nice.”

“Yeah.” Slowly he moved back, slotting his knees behind hers. Rook wound her fingers back within his and slid their hands beneath her shirt. She closed her eyes, letting herself feel every callus on his palm as it explored her torso. When his fingertips brushed over the cups of her bra, she shifted her torso forwards just the tiniest bit. Pratt took the cue, unhooking the fabric and sliding the straps down her arms. It didn’t come off completely, impeded by her shirt, but it was enough space for Rook’s breasts to be freed to Pratt’s touches. He was gentle, just barely pressing into the skin, trailing his blunted nails across her nipples until they pebbled. Rook breathed out—not a moan, but close.

“Are you okay?” She turned her head slightly to look at him. Pratt nodded.

“Are you?”

“Mmhmm.” Her thighs were slick already, and she ached to have stimulation between them, but she didn’t want to rush Pratt. Still, she couldn’t help nudging herself backwards and gasping when the bulge of Pratt’s cock bumped against her clothed clit. His breath stuttered, and his hand slipped free from hers to move down her belly, dipping below her waistband. Rook had the presence of mind to feel embarrassed at the unkempt hairs covering her pubic area, but Pratt didn’t seem to care in the least. He parted her lower lips with his first and fourth fingers, using the middle two to slide into her heat. Rook sighed in relief, lifting her top leg and moving it back to rest on his thigh. With the newly-freed space, Pratt could thrust and curl his fingers more actively, and Rook quickly felt the results of his work. Her stomach tightened, her muscles clenching to keep his fingers within her. “Please,” she gasped, the hand at her chest massaging her own breasts, the free hand curving back to caress his hair. “Staci...”

Wetness dripped against her neck, drawing Rook’s attention to the man behind her. Pratt’s body was shaking. She forgot her arousal in an instant, flipping over and focusing all her attention on him.

“Staci, hey.” His hand fumbled around between her legs, still trying to rub against her clit. Rook stopped him with a gentle grip on his wrist. “Hey.” He met her gaze, and then Staci Pratt shattered like a sheet of ice. His breaths heaved in and out of his chest in wracking sobs, fat tears streaming down his face and soaking the pillow beneath him.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Shh, shh, it’s okay.” Rook cuddled Pratt closer, tucking his head beneath her chin and using her palm to rub circles on his back. He clung to her midsection like a child. When the sobs had subsided and Pratt could talk again, words spilled out in a flood.

“He wanted you because of me. If I hadn’t been so weak, he would have just killed you. But he knew. He knew I cared about you, and he used you to get to me.” He took a moment just to sniffle; Rook stroked through his hair. “I should have been stronger. I should have freed you before he ever got into your head.”

“Jacob was in your head, too. You weren’t yourself. I don’t blame you, Staci, not one bit.” Rook pulled away, tilting his head up until she could cup his cheek, and she gave him a watery smile. “I should’ve been stronger, too. I should’ve taken you from the helicopter crash. But I didn’t, and we’re here now.” She wiggled down the mattress, evening out their heights so she could press her forehead against his. “We’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” he echoed, then tilted his chin up so his lips met hers. She kissed him back, matching his eagerness with her own. When Pratt licked at her lower lip, she welcomed him inside her mouth, tracing the line of his teeth with the tip of her tongue. His hips jerked against hers—his arousal had returned to full hardness. “Can I…?”

“Please,” she said, and both she and Pratt worked at undressing themselves. Clothes were tossed carelessly onto the floor, Rook’s hair tie flicked off in the same direction so that Pratt could run his fingers through the strands. He tucked it behind her on the pillow, kissing her again as he reached between her legs. Rook lifted a thigh to wrap around his waist and rocked into the heel of his palm. Friction built up quickly, as did her arousal—especially when Pratt’s hips moved in just the right way and the head of his cock brushed against her inner thigh. “Staci,” she gasped, “I’m ready.”

“Okay. Okay.” He pulled his hand away, lining up with her entrance.

“Wait,” Rook said suddenly. Pratt moved back an inch, his skin no longer touching hers. She mourned the loss but touched his cheek anyway. “You know you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, right?”

“I know.” His smile was small and wavered, threatening to extinguish itself under the weight of his guilt and trauma, but it was a smile nonetheless. “I want to.”

“Okay.” She kissed the center of his chest and reached down to grasp his shaft. Pratt made an aborted little thrust as Rook positioned him properly, then he made a more deliberate movement to slide inside of her. Rook’s breath flew out in a relieved huff, her fingernails digging into his shoulders and raking down his back as he started up a rhythm.

There were scars beneath her hands, put there by a man whose life she saved. The skin could have been smooth and tan and unblemished if only she’d pulled Pratt out of the helicopter. The scars could have been avenged if she’d killed Jacob Seed on that mountaintop, when she had the chance. He would have been the Pratt she remembered from her first days at the sheriff’s office, with his bravado and his boyishness. He would be whole and intact and free from the traumas he endured at Jacob’s hands. 

But then he wouldn’t be here, close enough that his breaths mingled with Rook’s, so close that part of his body was inside of hers. And it was unfair to be grateful for the hell they’d been through when it had left them both broken, but Rook _was._ They might be worse for wear, but they were together, and they could help each other rebuild. She’d thought that she’d asked Joseph for mercy, but maybe she’d asked whatever higher power he listened to—maybe the mercy was giving her someone who would understand her and care for her in spite of everything they’d been through.

“I’m close,” Pratt groaned, his hand pressed to Rook’s rear and holding her against him.

“Me, too.” Her body was electric, a live wire coiling tighter and tighter until the head of Pratt’s cock stroked her g-spot and she came with a gasp of his name. He followed close after, the tightness of her cunt triggering his own orgasm. Rook buried her head in his chest, holding onto him as he shivered through the aftershocks. It was only when his hand cupped the back of her neck that she felt her own body trembling.

“Did I hurt you?” There was genuine concern in his voice, and Rook looked up to question him. Pratt spoke before she could. “You’re crying.”

“Oh.” She swiped at the wetness below her eyes, assisted by Pratt’s thumb. “No. No, I’m fine. Just… overwhelmed. In a good way.” He hummed in response, holding her close once more. Their skin slipped together in a sweaty sheen, and Rook was leaking fluids onto Pratt’s thigh where it had wedged its way between her legs, but neither of them cared. He kissed the crown of her head. She listened to the steadying of his heartbeat. And for the first time in months, they were both okay.


End file.
